


tu oublieras mon nom

by aquamarine_nebula



Series: bodyguard au [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyguard!Yuuri, Canon Universe, M/M, Skater!Viktor, basically canon but yuuri doesn't skate competitively, probably kicking and screaming, suggestive content, sure there's pining but it's not slowburn, they are slowly but surely falling in love, viktor pines, yuuri doesn't realise viktor pines, yuuri pines, yuuri's still in the skating crew because phichit's dragged him in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquamarine_nebula/pseuds/aquamarine_nebula
Summary: tu oublieras mon nom - you will forget my nameViktor gave him a megawatt smile. “You look lovely today, Yuuri,” he said, his voice lowering, head cocking a bit to one side. “What brings you here?”He could have taken his every movement from a point-to-point guide on flirting, let alone the actual words, and Yuuri knew this because of the intense training he’d had to carry out on understanding body language. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been trained on how to deal with Viktor Nikiforov flirting with him.“I hired him,” Mr Giacometti said.Viktor blinked.“As my bodyguard,” Mr Giacometti continued.Yuuri gets a job done, fulfils a long-time dream, and probably begins falling in love in the process.





	tu oublieras mon nom

Yuuri tried not to stare back.

But it was _hard_. After all, he’d spent most his life straining to catch a glimpse of Viktor Nikiforov, whether in TV spots, interviews, or the rare times he had enough of a break from work to follow Phichit to his competitions, but this wasn’t like those times. Before, it didn’t matter how much he stared, because Viktor would never notice someone like _him_. Now, apparently, he was, but Yuuri had a job to carry out.

“Do you see him, Mr Giacometti?”

“Chris,” his client insisted.

“Chris?” Yuuri corrected himself, though he would refer to him again as Mr Giacometti straight away.

He let out a sigh. “No.” But he still kept a careful eye out as he entered the banquet room.

Yuuri had checked the perimeter several minutes earlier when Mr Giacometti had been talking to his coach, but he still gave the room a careful sweep. Which was when he noticed Viktor Nikiforov staring unabashedly at him. Yuuri almost hoped that he wouldn’t approach, but that was a vain hope. It was well known that he and Mr Giacometti were close friends, and sure enough as soon as Chris had a flute of champagne in his hands Viktor shrugged away from the other Russian skaters, his gaze trained on Yuuri. Before he could think through it logically, he was already stepping slightly in front of Mr Giacometti, not quite getting into a defensive stance but not far off. Training would do that, make you look at everyone like a threat.

“Viktor,” Mr Giacometti said, and Yuuri immediately relaxed. His voice was filled with easy affection, and Viktor took his eyes away from Yuuri for the second it took to greet him with almost equal affection. Yuuri returned to scanning the crowd, very definitely not thinking about the fact that the man whose posters _still_ adorned his walls, even after giving up on his dream, was currently watching him with quiet heat in his gaze. “And you know Yuuri.”

 _Did_ he?

See, most of the job was easy, ferrying celebrities from one glamorous place to another, making sure paparazzi didn’t overwhelm them and that rabid fans didn’t grab at their hair or clothes, but a few times Yuuri had been involved in more dangerous situations. Thrice, his client had been shot at, once, Yuuri had even taken the bullet himself. He still had the scar on his arm, and it still itched sometimes or pulled at certain movements. In those more dangerous situations, somehow the anxiety-ridden part of his brain managed to completely shut off, and he could see everything with dizzying clarity.

This wasn’t one of those times. His pulse pounded in his ears, and he could feel his face heat up as Mr Giacometti watched him with a small, sly smirk and Viktor gave him a megawatt smile. “You look lovely today, Yuuri,” he said, his voice lowering, head cocking a bit to one side. “What brings you here?”

He could have taken his every movement from a point-to-point guide on flirting, let alone the actual words, and Yuuri _knew_ this because of the intense training he’d had to carry out on understanding body language. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been trained on how to deal with _Viktor Nikiforov_ flirting with him.

“I hired him,” Mr Giacometti said.

Viktor blinked.

“As my bodyguard,” Mr Giacometti continued.

Viktor furrowed his brow. “Another ex?”

“The more a jealous ex threatens me the less exciting it becomes,” Mr Giacometti sighed. “But this one was being particularly… persistent. It worried my coach. I was talking to Phichit a little while back and he mentioned that Yuuri works as a bodyguard.”

Yuuri tried not to notice how Viktor bit his bottom lip, his shoulders tensing as his gaze lingered on Yuuri, but the training still had him pick up on all the details. Or maybe he was just being that obvious; with the way Mr Giacometti nudged him teasingly.

Thankfully, Viktor’s coach pulled him away, nodding gruffly to Yuuri and Mr Giacometti as he did, and Yuuri allowed himself a moment of weakness to stare at Viktor’s retreating back. Well, actually a little lower.

Mr Giacometti snorted next to him.

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri exclaimed, immediately snapping his attention back to the crowd. “I am professional; I’m not going to—”

“Yuuri, it’s fine. I only hired you for the banquet, you have the whole night to seduce Viktor as much as you want.” Yuuri stopped breathing. “Not that you’ll have to do much, anyway. Viktor likes a man that could beat him up.”

He smoothly picked up another champagne flute and strolled into the crowd, leaving Yuuri startled and confused for a long moment before he shook himself and followed.

 

 

The banquet itself was dull. Usually, he’d come as Phichit’s plus one and they’d have their own fun, but being on the clock, all he could do was wave at him from across the room as he talked to sponsors. As it wound down, Mr Giacometti was talking to an ice dancer Yuuri couldn’t recognise by sight, trailing his fingers along his upper arm with obvious intent. He caught Yuuri soon after, squeezing his shoulder. “Thank you for this, Yuuri. It’ll be fine now; I’m taking Masumi back to my room so I’ll let you off now. Anyway, there’s someone who’s been waiting for you,” he ducked in to whisper this conspiratorially in Yuuri’s ear as he gestured over his shoulder. Yuuri stubbornly decided not to look.

“No problem. I’m glad the evening went well.” He shook Mr Giacometti’s hand, watched as he went back to the ice dancer and took his arm.

Viktor was watching him, alone by a table, and ducked his head with a blush when Yuuri caught him looking. Yuuri decided to join Phichit at the side of the dance floor.

“Almost a pity nothing more interesting happened.”

Yuuri let out a breath. “I thought you liked Chris?”

“I _do_. Which is why I recommended he hire the best bodyguard in the world.” Phichit smiled sweetly. “By the way, Yuuri, you would have told me if something interesting had happened at the Grand Prix final banquet, right?”

Yuuri winced. He didn’t need the reminder of that day, waking up to the message that Vicchan had passed during the night and coming to the banquet for the sole purpose of drinking himself into a stupor, waking the morning after with a splitting headache. Travelling on a plane whilst hungover was the worst; he was lucky Phichit was such an affectionate caretaker. “You were there,” he insisted. “I’m pretty sure you remember more about it than I do.”

Phichit shook his head. “I left a few hours early, remember? But I keep hearing people refer to what happened there.”

Yuuri didn’t in fact remember, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I don’t like being out of the loop,” Phichit sulked, sticking his bottom lip out. Yuuri laughed, and froze when Viktor appeared beside him.

“Are you off the clock now, Yuuri?”

Yuuri could see Phichit’s eyes widen roughly to the size of dinner plates, and stare at Viktor.

“Um. Yes?” Yuuri met eyes that he knew as well as his own, and watched as Viktor tucked strands of his silver hair behind his ear only for them to swing straight in front of his eyes again. He shifted a little.

“Would you like to get a drink with me?”

In… dreams, fantasies, whatever, Yuuri had been in this position many times. His response also changed every time; sometimes a bashful yes or a confident yes, sometimes he’d turn Viktor down and he would beg for a minute of Yuuri’s time, sometimes he forwent all formality and pulled Viktor into a filthy kiss that would have him moaning Yuuri’s name and grasping at him desperately. The only constant was that Viktor was always charmed, always hanging off Yuuri’s every word with a besotted expression on his face.

Instead, all Yuuri said was something that sounded a little like, “ _Urk_ ,” and had Viktor looking at him in concern. Phichit gave Yuuri a firm nudge with his elbow when he didn’t respond, and Yuuri shot up like he’d been electrocuted. “I mean, yes! Yes, I’d like that.”

Viktor definitely had a blush over the arch of his cheeks, and it was ridiculously endearing. His eyes slid to the left, and he startled a little when he saw Phichit, as if he hadn’t realised he was standing beside Yuuri. “Hi, Phichit,” he said, recovering.

“Hi, Viktor,” Phichit replied, sounding a little breathless. Yuuri tried to work out what he was thinking with a quick look, but Phichit had always been notoriously difficult to read accurately.

Viktor held out his arm to Yuuri, as if he was an eighteenth century gentleman escorting his beau, and Yuuri accepted it, feeling in a daze. Or a daydream. It was very possible he’d wake up as soon as he talked to Viktor.

 

 

He didn’t wake up. They sipped the champagne on the outskirts of the banquet hall, as Yuuri politely congratulated Viktor on his fifth consecutive win at Worlds, possibly accidentally outing himself as a Viktor fanboy in the process. The conversation moved on to Viktor’s training in St Petersburg and his rink mates, and Yuuri talked about Phichit’s home rink in Detroit and how he still skated there sometimes, even though he no longer held his hopes of skating competitively.

“You did your debut year as a senior skater when you were seventeen, right?” Viktor asked casually.

Yuuri choked on his champagne. “I… yes? Yes, I did. I kept on injuring myself, though. I was taking more time off than I was training, and there was no way I’d be able to make up the rink and travelling and all the other expenses, so I had to give it up.”

He didn’t say: ‘ _I had to give you up_ ’.

That was how he’d felt when he’d severed his contract with Celestino. Five years of looking at the posters, of clutching a warm feeling to his heart, of wondering what it would be like when he stood on the podium beside Viktor, and Viktor would look at him with a wondering, interested look in his eye. He would tell Viktor that _he’d_ been his inspiration, what had driven him to the top, and Viktor would be bashful and fond.

“That’s a pity,” Viktor said. He touched Yuuri’s arm, and the casual contact had Yuuri frozen to the ground. “You would have been wonderful.”

His hand lingered a little longer, but finally reluctantly dropped. Yuuri could breathe again, but he found he hadn’t quite missed it all that much, if the alternative was Viktor’s hand on him.

Viktor showed him pictures of his dog, adding his own commentary and story to each one; the time Makkachin went to the vets and pushed over a filing cabinet in his terror, the time he stole and stashed all of Viktor’s gold medals, the time he chewed through Viktor’s favourite tie ( _“It was Hugo Boss, Yuuri! Hugo Boss!”_ ), the time he befriended an entire flock of ducks. Yuuri was, if he hadn’t been already, thoroughly enchanted. Enough that when Viktor kissed his cheek and looked at him from beneath his eyelashes—that had to be mascara on them, there was no way they were naturally that thick and dark—Yuuri would happily have given up anything just to spend the night with him. Not that he wouldn’t have done that _before_ , but now it was a burning need that settled below his skin.

“Shall we continue this in my room?”

Yuuri didn’t know what got into him to be able to ask that, out loud, without either fainting or starting to sob. Maybe it was the two flutes of champagne. Maybe it was for the satisfaction of watching Viktor’s eyes darken and listen to the hitch in his breathing. There was a beat of silence, when they stared at each other, and finally Viktor smiled and nodded.

Viktor jumped him in the elevator.

It was like he’d just unleashed months’ worth of sexual repression, and focussing it all on Yuuri was dizzying. Yuuri could do nothing but clutch onto his shoulders desperately and kiss back with all he had. He was against the wall of the elevator, honestly had no idea if they were alone and could hardly care, and Viktor was holding him and touching him in a way he’d only ever fantasised and dreamed about. Yuuri pulled him by his wrist once the doors slid open to drag him into his room, only needing three tries to open the door as Viktor occupied himself with sucking marks into Yuuri’s neck.

“I’ve waited so _long_ for this,” Viktor said, kissing the side of his head before Yuuri turned to face him.

Yuuri said nothing. Surely, he didn’t mean that he was a virgin, not with the way he’d kissed Yuuri before.

“I’ve waited so long for _you_ ,” he continued, and Yuuri was even more confused. Viktor’s expression was almost sad as he unwaveringly kept his eyes on Yuuri’s face, fixing the few strands of hair that had fallen from the gelled-back style he kept it in for work.

It must be some kind of play. Yuuri bit his lip, and pushed it to the back of his mind. If Viktor wanted to pretend he’d been pining over Yuuri for however long, Yuuri would let him. He might even let himself believe it and live in a fantasy for a little longer.

Viktor mouthed down his throat, and Yuuri leant back against the wall with a low groan as he felt Viktor drop to his knees. “Can I? Please?” he asked, looking up at Yuuri with eyes filled with lust. Yuuri could only nod.

When Yuuri had been twelve, he’d seen who he was sure was the most beautiful man in existence. It wasn’t difficult to believe; Viktor had been sixteen, with the features of a long-forgotten mythical creature and the otherworldly hair and eyes to match. Yuuri could remember staring at the screen, wondering if those really were nebulae in his eyes and the tail of a comet in his long ponytail. That had been the innocent, childlike beauty.

The Viktor of now was nothing like that. He was marble and ice rather than stardust and fire, but the Yuuri of now much preferred that.

He buried his fingers in hair that looked soft and was even softer to the touch. Viktor had already undone his trousers with shaking hands, and as Yuuri tugged Viktor moaned around him. Yuuri threw his head back and bashed his head against the wall, exclaiming his pain as Viktor pulled away to laugh into his thigh.

“Careful, darling,” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone.

Yuuri had slept with a lot of beautiful people. It was something he somehow managed; sleeping with people who were way out of his league, which he didn’t get but wouldn’t complain about. Still, Viktor was a whole other level, and he was on his knees in front of Yuuri, lips red from Yuuri kissing them, hair mussed and tangled from Yuuri grasping at it, a blush on his cheeks as if he was as affected by Yuuri as Yuuri was by him.

“I doubt I’ll last long at all,” he said weakly, almost kicking himself when Viktor’s eyes widened. That was it; he would leave and Yuuri would have nothing but his fantasies and a few glorious moments of reality.

As if fantasy would be worth _anything_ after this.

To his surprise, Viktor softened. “Me neither,” he said.

Which was good enough. He cupped the side of Viktor’s face, running his thumb along his bottom lip, catching his breath when Viktor opened his mouth to touch his tongue to it, keeping his eyes on Yuuri’s. It was a clear promise.

Yuuri leant back and closed his eyes.

 

 

Viktor was still fast asleep when he woke up.

They’d sprawled, exhausted after a few hours of exploring each other’s bodies, on Yuuri’s bed with barely any space between them, but somehow now there was even less space. Yuuri propped himself up on his forearms, wincing as he blinked and realised he’d left his contacts in. He hated them at the best of times; but glasses fell down his nose too easily to be safe to use whilst on the job. Managing to disentangle himself from Viktor—who somehow had managed to sprout several extra limbs for the sole purpose of keeping Yuuri glued to his body—he stumbled to the bathroom to take them out, and take the quickest shower of his life to wash yesterday’s gel out of his hair. He was already missing being in Viktor’s arms, even though that was one of the stupidest ideas he’d had in his life. Viktor would wake up, maybe kiss him goodbye, and then leave to never return.

He stirred when Yuuri climbed back into bed beside him, and gave him a delighted smile when his eyes fluttered open.

Of course, he woke like an angel who’d been gently aroused by the sound of a harp, but focussing too much on his beauty and grace would never help. Viktor slid closer to steal a kiss, and sighed in contentment as he fell back against the pillows. “When’s your flight?” he asked quietly.

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

Viktor nodded. “Mine’s tomorrow morning. Feel like staying in the hotel room today?”

Yuuri made a sound of assent, and Viktor began combing his fingers through his hair. “It’s not fair,” he said with a partially amused, partially saddened chuckle. “I’ve waited so long to be with you like this, and we have to cut it so short.”

Yuuri frowned at him. Was he really continuing that play today? “Why do you say that?”

Viktor rolled onto his side. “Well, the last time, you were really too drunk to do anything.”

“Too… drunk?”

“I don’t know how you managed to dance, when you could hardly even walk straight,” Viktor laughed, before seeming to notice Yuuri’s distress. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What am I…? The Grand Prix final banquet in Sochi, of course.”

Sochi. Where he’d been when he’d heard the news of Vicchan. Suddenly, a lot more was making sense; Mr Giacometti introducing the two of them as if they’d already met, Phichit’s comments about something happening after he left, Viktor’s sudden interest.

“Oh _God_ ,” Yuuri moaned.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t touch you,” he joked, but the smile slid off his face when Yuuri didn’t react.

“I don’t remember what happened at Sochi.”

Viktor was quiet. “You… what?”

“I know I got drunk, but…” It explained so _much_ , but now he was only going to disappoint Viktor. “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m not really like that. I’ve heard enough stories, but when I get to that stage I tend to black out. All I remember is standing in the corner and drinking.”

He rolled over to bury his face in his pillow, too scared to look Viktor in the eye. “You really don’t remember?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri repeated.

A hand brushed up his side, already so familiar even after so little time, and Viktor said in a soothing voice, “Yuuri, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m _not_ like that usually. I know I’m a bodyguard but it doesn’t stop me from being timid and… well, filled with anxiety most of the time. I’m not confident or sexy or _anything_ —”

“ _Yuuri_.” Yuuri stopped and looked at him. He seemed disappointed. Definitely disappointed, and Yuuri had ruined everything and this memory would always be tarnished. “It’s okay, really. I know that you’re not as confident as you seem when you’re drunk. It’s not like Sochi was the _first_ time I noticed you. Sochi was just when I knew I _needed_ you.”

“You noticed me?”

“Of course,” Viktor assured him, sliding his fingers down his arm and taking his hand. “You’re beautiful. Even with those awful suits that do nothing to accentuate it.” Yuuri blinked. “Sochi was… you commanded the entire room to pay attention to you, and only you. It wasn’t as if I could look away after that.”

“Oh.”

“I’m choreographing my next short programme about that night,” he added casually.

“ _Oh_.”

Viktor kissed him again, lingering and pulling Yuuri on top of him.

“I really looked up to you,” Yuuri finally managed to say, once they’d separated and Viktor had pressed their foreheads together, running his thumb along Yuuri’s cheekbone. “Since I was a child, I wanted to skate on the same ice as you. I know I didn’t, but this is… this is still…” he couldn’t quite finish, not sure how to describe it. “I’m with _you_ ,” he finally settled on.

Viktor’s lips parted, and he looked at Yuuri with such fondness and affection, Yuuri could almost believe that someday it would turn to something like love.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a lot of ideas for this??? so stay tuned if you're interested i guess. they'll probably be out of order short ficlets.


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